had nothing of their own and had come to town upon some legal business. I proffered my services and money. I learnt that they had gone to the dancing saloon by mistake, believing that it was a genuine dancing class. I offered to assist in the young girl’s education in French and dancing. My offer was accepted with enthusiasm as an honour—and we are still friendly. … If you like, we’ll go and see them, only not just now.”
“Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes, depraved vile, sensual man!”
“Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! O la vertu va-t-elle se nicher? But you know I shall tell you these things on purpose, for the pleasure of hearing your outcries!”
“I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself,” muttered Raskolnikov angrily.
Svidrigaïlov laughed heartily; finally he called Philip, paid his bill, and began getting up.
“I say, but I am drunk, assez causé ,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“I should rather think it must be a pleasure!” cried Raskolnikov, getting up.
“No doubt it is a pleasure for a worn-out profligate to describe such adventures with a monstrous project of the same sort in his mind—especially under such circumstances and to such a man as me. … It’s stimulating!”
“Well, if you come to that,” Svidrigaïlov answered, scrutinising Raskolnikov with some surprise, “if you come to that, you are a thorough cynic yourself. You’ve plenty to make you so, anyway. You can understand a great deal … and you can do a great deal too. But enough. I sincerely regret not having had more talk with you, but I shan’t lose sight of you. … Only wait a bit.”